Glass
by Ricole
Summary: They lived in a world of glass, she knew... Hermione reflects on five important times in her life. Contains HarryHermione pairing.


**Glass.**

**By: Ricole**

**Author's Notes: This was written for my super cool friend Erin. Merry Christmas!**

**I don't own Harry Potter. This is just for fun!**

* * *

**One.**

**War, part I. (Searching for Horcruxes).**

They lived in a world of glass, she knew. Her mind was plagued by the fragility of their world and their very existence.

Every day was a gift. Every new morning, every meager meal, every time she watched over her boys as they slept—she cherished the little things and tried to pretend that she was not terrified.

They were surrounded by danger and horror; she constantly felt the presence of the enemy. They were searching, running, preparing—but always on tiptoes, always hushed.

They couldn't risk breaking the precious glass.

What happens to people's minds when they're devoting all time and energy to searching for the very thing they most dread, she knew not. But she knew it probably helped explain why they never laughed much these days. Though perhaps it was better this way. Laughter was too harsh; it rattled the glass so terribly. Crying was even worse.

And so they kept forging on, searching for that which terrified them, and always aware that their world could much too easily shatter.

OoOoOoOoOoO

**Two.**

**War, part II. (Beginnings).**

She and Harry were enclosed in a world of delicate spun glass, she knew. The most wonderful and beautiful feelings were arising between them at the worst possible time.

Every day the glass spun around the two of them grew a bit stronger, a bit more solid; every day they grew a bit closer. It was beautiful, but it was so fragile; they knew that the enemy could easily break through the swirling lines and steal one of them away, leaving the other picking shards of glass out of a broken heart.

She would never tell him, but it made her even more terrified than she had been before. Now she had more to lose.

They never spoke of the future; it was too painful. But they could see it, shining brightly on the other side of their beautiful glass cage. It taunted them, but it also gave them courage and hope.

And so they slowly progressed, their feelings too strong to be ignored, but their glass world too terrifying to allow misty-eyed romance and star-struck happiness.

OoOoOoOoOoO

**Three.**

**Union.**

They lived in a world of glass, she knew. The glass was a bit thicker now that Voldemort was gone. But especially for her and Harry, the fragility remained.

She could never forget it. Even now, even as she stood in front of the mirror admiring her white satin-clad reflection, even as her mother fussed with her veil and blinked back tears of joy, even as she felt her heart might burst from excitement and happiness…even now, a voice in the back of her mind insistently reminded her of the vulnerability of it all.

Harry knew it too. He had admitted as much when he had proposed to her. "I can't promise you security, Hermione," he had told her. "In my line of work…I can't promise that I'll always come home to you at the end of the day. You could easily be a young widow…you could be left to raise children on your own. I just want to make sure you understand what it means to marry an Auror."

She had assured him that understood, and that she wanted to marry him regardless.

Never once had she regretted her decision. And as she walked down the aisle toward him, she knew that she never would.

But there was still a part of her that was always conscious of the glass beneath her feet.

OoOoOoOoOoO

**Four.**

**Family.**

Their little family was formed in a world of glass, she knew. She could not forget the moment that had burned this knowledge into her mind.

She had woken in the middle of the night to find the bed unusually cold and Harry's spot vacated. Curious, she had climbed out of bed and padded down the hall in search of him.

He had been in the nursery, holding their infant daughter with infinite tenderness and admiration. She had watched soundlessly from the doorway, savoring the picturesque sight.

After a minute or so, Harry had sensed her presence and turned to face her, motioning for her to join them.

"I was just thinking…" he had begun.

"What?" she had prompted.

"I was thinking that…that she's about the same age I was when my parents were killed," he had said softly, his jaw clenching with emotion.

His words had startled her, though she did not ever admit it.

They had stayed there for a long time, drinking in the love that surrounded them and trying not to think about the fragile glass surrounding their happy home.

OoOoOoOoOoO

**Five.**

**Reflection.**

They had lived their whole lives in a world of glass, she knew. But the fragility no longer frightened her. In fact, in retrospect, she would not have wanted to live her life any other way.

She decided that perhaps she was luckier than most. Her circumstances had forced her to spend her whole life realizing the frailty of the world around her, and this kept her from taking things for granted. She had cherished every day with her family and friends because she was always aware of how easily everything could shatter.

She spends a lot of time sitting by the living room window these days. Long ago, her youngest daughter had insisted on hanging a small prism in that window because she loved the rainbows it created when the sun shone through the glass. Though all the children were grown now and had children of their own, Hermione had never had the heart to take down that prism.

But now she was glad that it was there. She loved to watch the afternoon sunlight sparkle and dance through the prism. She knew it was silly, but she always felt as if the glass were putting on a show for her.

Harry sometimes saw her sitting there and would join her on the couch, following her gaze up to the small prism.

"Ah, that old prism," he had said once. "Isn't it amazing what that little piece of glass can do to this old room? It just makes everything seem so…"

"Beautiful," Hermione had whispered, contentedly resting her head on her husband's chest.

_The End._


End file.
